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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521752">Do Our Gay Ballet on Ice</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesomelove/pseuds/makesomelove'>makesomelove</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>IT (Movies - Muschietti)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Ice Skating, Implied Canada, M/M, Strangers to Lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 17:00:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,930</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29521752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/makesomelove/pseuds/makesomelove</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fuck no,” Richie says like Eddie’s offended him. “God, no way. Are you kidding? Those guys used to kick the snot out of me. No, fuck hockey players. This ice isn’t for them. This is sacred ice apart from their toothless barbarism. Plus they’re all ugly as fuck. Do you think I’m ugly?” </p><p>Richie frames his face angelically with his hands and grins. He’s got all of his teeth in his admittedly charming smile. Eddie shakes his head. Richie is certainly not ugly. As Richie talks, Eddie doesn’t even realize he’s being led further onto the ice.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>291</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Do Our Gay Ballet on Ice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/rlottery/gifts">rlottery</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy birthday to my angel and my nasty little butch boy, Natalie!!! This is in her honor and so even though it's never explicitly stated, this does take place in Winnipeg. Go Peggers! It's cold as hell there! Thank you to Lea and thank you to Bridget for reading this and helping me make it better. Title is taken from Fake Empire by The National.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“No, you know, I don’t think I can do this,” Eddie says. </p><p>He watches as crowds of people get on the ice and practically float on it like it’s nothing, like they aren’t going to die instantly. He can barely walk the distance from Mike’s car in his ice skates and he scrambles to sit down on the first bench he sees.</p><p>“Come on, Eddie,” Mike says cheerily. “You’ve made it this far!” </p><p>A sick combination of nervous and overheated sweat pushes out of every pore on Eddie’s skin. He’s already too far bundled in several layers of clothing, and the sweat will just have to be an unpleasant addition until he gets home and can free himself of it. Every winter in this godforsaken place is like his first all over again, no matter how many he’s lived through. Human beings should not have to endure this kind of cold, but here he is outside in it anyway for no reason. Well, one reason. </p><p>It should make him feel pathetic, to be pushing 40 and ice skating for the first time. It’s never been something that’s been particularly interesting to him - you strap sharp blades to your feet and move at speeds no person should and all the while you’re putting yourself at risk for busting your ass or your head or both. It’s bad enough when there’s sport involved and awful people are trying to knock each other’s teeth out with sticks and a puck, but it’s even more unappealing to Eddie to take any single point out of it besides daredevilry. No matter how much fun it always looks like Mike has, it hasn’t ever seemed worth it. He’s been content just to watch and wave like what he assumes a proud parent would do. </p><p>That is until last Saturday when something shifted his entire perception of what ice skating could be. Something along the lines of a mysterious stranger who, despite his large built stature, or perhaps because of it, was a marvelous, graceful spectacle to behold. Eddie had never seen legs so long, feet so nimble. The way this man carried himself on the ice - Eddie was enchanted, and every other person faded away until it felt like they were the only two people outside, on the planet, like he was skating just for Eddie. </p><p>“Hey, do you still have that extra pair of skates?” Eddie asked Mike this morning. “I’m trying to get laid.” </p><p>Now Mike puts his hands on his hips and does a series of impatient standing lunges. Eddie knows he can’t stall forever, but he’s trying by tying and untying and retying his laces over and over. </p><p>“Do you see him?” Mike says, finally testing the seriousness of Eddie’s resistance of the ice by putting one foot on the frozen river, but Eddie knows he’s bluffing. Mike would never ditch him like that. </p><p>“Not yet,” Eddie says. </p><p>“Let’s go take a closer look,” Mike says and he zips away from Eddie’s sight like a shot. </p><p>“No, wait!” Eddie says. He stands too quickly and wobbles, the nervous, overheated sweat getting replenished with a fresh flash of fear sweat. With the extra height of the blades, his centre of gravity is all off. He isn’t used to being this high off the ground, even if it’s only a few centimetres. There’s no way he can get on that ice, especially on his own with no Mike. </p><p>There are several warming huts just across the river, and one in particular that looks like a cozy shack built out of logs. If he could just make it over there, he could stop freezing his ass off and behaving like a fool. He’s about to spiral out of control when Mike comes back to him with a guilty smile, and Eddie could cry. </p><p>“Come on, you little baby,” Mike says. He takes Eddie’s hands and yanks him along so he has no choice but to follow. </p><p>“I’m older than you,” Eddie shouts, though it’s muffled through the scarf now wrapped tightly over his face. Between that and the hat jammed on his head, he can barely see through the small window of visibility he’s left for himself. He’s got on a grand total of sixteen articles of clothing, including his regular underwear. </p><p>“My widdle baby boy who I held in my arms when he was born,” Mike continues teasing him as he confidently strides in his skates all the way onto the ice, dragging Eddie behind him. “Should I pick you up and carry you now?” </p><p>“If you do,” Eddie threatens thunderously. “If you do, so help me.” </p><p>“We would make the cutest pair skating team,” Mike sighs. “We could’ve been gold medalists.” </p><p>“They don’t let same-sex pairings compete at the Olympics,” Eddie says. </p><p>“Fine, then you won’t be needing these,” Mike says, snatching his hands away from Eddie’s and leaving him to toddle onto the ice alone. </p><p>“Wait!” Eddie calls out to him, but he’s already off again, throwing his head back and laughing while Eddie just has to stand there begging gravity to do him a solid and keep him upright. </p><p>He stands there scared out of his wits with fists clenched down at his sides, waiting for something, like maybe a swift breeze to push him gently along. That’s when he spots him - <i>him</i>! The enchanter! Flying directly towards Eddie at the speed of wind! Eddie braces for impact by squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering, but the impact doesn’t come. Instead he gets a spray of delicate ice crystals coating his eyelashes as the guy brakes suddenly in front of him and stumbles for the first time that Eddie’s seen. </p><p>“Watch it, asshole!” Eddie yells, suddenly feeling like a spell might’ve been broken. The effect of his rage is diminished by the scarf. He yanks it down just long enough to repeat himself, loudly enough that it echoes across the river. People turn to stare at him, and the man squints at him through his thick glasses. The pom-pom atop the vivid neon green hat he’s wearing tilts curiously towards him. </p><p>“Sorry,” the stupid face under the hat says. “Is this your patch of ice?” </p><p>“No,” Eddie glares, using every ounce of anger in him to channel into his visible face. He’s filled with a strange, volatile mixture of wanting to kick this guy’s ass and wanting to watch him ice dance naked. God, he’s probably some former hockey player who peaked in high school and used to run home every day to jack off to the sensation of bullying Eddie within an inch of his life. “I’m just standing here.” </p><p>“This here ice is for skating, not standing,” the stupid face says. Well, it’s a stupid face, and yet. From this close up another part of the spell is broken, but not in a bad way. </p><p>Watching him skate last weekend, from a small distance, Eddie could fill in what this guy was like, how he would appear, how he would lift Eddie into the air like flying and teach him about love. Now Eddie can see one of his sideburns is longer than the other, and his artfully disheveled facial hair creeps too far down his neck, and there are sweet little curls poking out of the bottom of his hat. He’s wildly underdressed for the weather, sporting just a short puffy jacket and the hat and a pair of fingerless gloves. Fingerless! In this kind of cold! Eddie peers up to read the lettering on the hat - and how tall are this guy’s skates, anyway? He shouldn’t have to peer up. </p><p>“What’s that say on your hat?” Eddie says. He reaches up and pokes at the guy’s forehead with mittened fingers. “A ‘himbo’?”</p><p>“Can you even see anything from under all that?” The guy gestures at Eddie’s protective layers.</p><p>“I can see your fucking hat, that’s for sure,” Eddie says. “Thanks for spraying me with ice, by the way.”</p><p>“I’m high-vis, bud. And so are you.” The himbo points at Eddie, and Eddie resists the urge to say, <i>me?</i> “You were here last week.”</p><p>Eddie glares. “Yes, I was. It’s a public place.” </p><p>“You weren’t skating last week,” the startlingly observant himbo says. “But you were wearing the most clothes I’ve ever seen a person wear. So is this like, your first time on the ice - sorry, what was your name?” </p><p>“Eddie,” and just then Eddie remembers that he is indeed standing on the ice, and his knees wobble and threaten to send him ass-first to the ground. “How could you tell?” </p><p>“Well, not to be rude, but it’s a little obvious,” the stupid face all-knowing himbo says before Eddie can fall. He catches him by the elbow, instantly steadying him. “I’m Richie.” </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie says, testing it in the mouth. It’s not enchanting but it fits just fine. “You weren’t a hockey player, were you?” </p><p>“Fuck no,” Richie says like Eddie’s offended him. “God, no way. Are you kidding? Those guys used to kick the snot out of me. No, fuck hockey players. This ice isn’t for them. This is sacred ice apart from their toothless barbarism. Plus they’re all ugly as fuck. Do you think I’m ugly?” </p><p>Richie frames his face angelically with his hands and grins. He’s got all of his teeth in his admittedly charming smile. Eddie shakes his head. Richie is certainly not ugly. </p><p>As Richie talks, Eddie doesn’t even realize he’s being led further onto the ice. Richie’s weight beside him is solid and distracting. It isn’t until Mike sweeps past them and taps him on the shoulder that he realizes they’ve moved out this far. </p><p>“Hey, you’re skating!” Mike whoops and he’s off again like lightning. </p><p>“Who’s the husband?” Richie says. His skates glide smoothly over the uneven ice, and Eddie tries to mimic him. Instead he ends up almost slipping. Richie holds on to him harder, and Eddie feels an odd swoop of dizziness as if he really had fallen down. </p><p>“Mike’s not my husband,” Eddie says. </p><p>“I didn’t say he was yours,” Richie says. “Just that he is one.” </p><p>“Okay, you know what,” Eddie says, shoving Richie off. He doesn’t even move from his spot before he’s crashing down, arms waving wildly out at his sides. </p><p>“Fall on your butt!” Richie calls out. “Hold up your hands!” </p><p>In a split second, Eddie reacts and does as he’s told, holding his hands up in front of his face like he’s readying for a blow. The blow comes from behind, his ass landing hard on the ice, his legs splayed open. A herd of what seems like a million teenagers whip around him seemingly out of nowhere as he lays there helplessly like he’s in the middle of the highway in a dead car. </p><p>“I’m gonna get you outta there, Eddie, hold tight!” Richie calls to him. He shoulders his way through the thick stream of skaters, nearly knocking over a few people to get to him. He crouches down, bright eyes wide and worried. Eddie feels dazed peering into them - he wonders if Richie came here with anyone or if he’s alone. </p><p>“I’m okay,” Eddie says a little shakily. “I fell on my butt, like you said.” </p><p>“Good,” Richie says. “If you land on your hands you could really hurt yourself.” </p><p>Richie stands and helps Eddie to his feet. He isn’t sore now - he’s wearing so many layers of clothing he’s not even sure the impact will actually affect him. He really is okay, just a little winded and hugely mortified that he fell in public where everyone including, and especially Richie could see. Why the hell are there so many people still outside, anyway? It’s the same fucking temperature as outer space. </p><p>“That was so embarrassing,” Eddie says, grateful for the scarf covering the humiliated blush on his cheeks. “Like a little kid.” </p><p>“No way,” Richie says. “It’s your first time. Here, I’ll fall too so you won’t be alone.” </p><p>“No, don’t,” Eddie says but he’s too late. </p><p>In the very short time Eddie has known him, it’s been made clear Richie enjoys performing. He lifts his leg and lets his knee hang in the air before stepping down, purposefully awkward and skates bending at an angle. Then he puts his other leg behind him, like he’s about to do the fucking splits. </p><p>“How old are you?” Eddie says. He wonders if he should dial 9-1-1 and keep his thumb at the ready to hit the call button, or if Richie could survive a real fall like this. </p><p>“Over the hill and loving it,” Richie says. He heaves forward, then back, yelling loudly in distress the entire time so it draws maximum attention. </p><p>“Would you just fucking fall already?” Eddie shrieks. “This is more embarrassing than anything that I did.” </p><p>“So it’s working,” Richie says. He finally turns around to face Eddie and then falls forward headfirst towards the ice. Eddie is shocked in place, unable to assist, until Richie tucks into himself at the last moment and does a neat little somersault, landing proudly on his knees. Some passersby ooh and ahh and clap for him. </p><p>“Ta-da!” Richie says, holding his arms out in a flourish in front of Eddie. </p><p>“Wow,” Eddie says, trying and failing to sound bored and un-wowed. This man just did a fucking ice somersault to make Eddie feel better. Nobody’s ever done that before, he can safely say. </p><p>“It’d be more impressive if I didn’t need help getting up,” Richie grunts, holding his hand out for Eddie to take. They manage together to both stay and get back up. </p><p>Richie carries on skating backwards so he can face Eddie, who can only shuffle to chase after him. Eddie feels dazzled by Richie’s skating abilities again, just like the first time he laid eyes on Richie, just a week ago. It’s like he’s watching a beautiful animation of Richie, the smoothness of his gliding feet, the agile way he moves his body. Meanwhile Eddie knows he looks the opposite of dazzling, more probably like a sullen over-dressed baby deer.</p><p>“What’s with the scarf?” Richie says, plucking at the fabric when Eddie actually skates within reach. “And earmuffs over the hat? Isn’t that overkill?” </p><p>“It’s negative nine fucking degrees, Richie,” Eddie huffs. “Your clothes are underkill.” </p><p>“So?” Richie says. “Why are you so cold? You sound like you’re from here.”</p><p>“I am from here, just never built up much of a tolerance for it,” Eddie explains.  “I didn’t - I wasn’t allowed to go outside a lot as a kid. And my ex and I didn’t really like, do things.” </p><p>Right now, on this beautiful day where Mike has ditched him for the first time in his life and Richie is paying such close attention to him, he doesn’t really want to get into it. How he had his first snowball fight way after his first sip of legal alcohol, and how he had to watch from his bedroom window while other kids screamed with laughter as they got pulled down a snow covered street behind someone’s dad’s pickup truck. How his mother died disappointed in him and how his divorce brought the greatest peace he’s ever known. How, even though it’s been made painfully obvious, this is his first time on the ice, and he’s proud he’s made it here. </p><p>“Well, I’m glad you’re outside now,” Richie says. He skates an easy figure eight around Eddie, circling him like a watchful hawk. “Because that’s where I am. And now we’ve met each other.” </p><p>“Well, I mean, I don’t think meeting me holds any special significance for anyone,” Eddie says, looking down at his feet and the small progress they make. </p><p>“No,” Richie disagrees emphatically. “I think it does.” </p><p>Richie moves so he’s behind Eddie and his hand hovers over Eddie’s side, waiting for clearance. Eddie gives it to him by pressing his mittened hand over it until it’s settled snugly on his body, guiding and steadying. He feels safe and held by Richie like this, like Richie could put him right in his pocket. When he turns his head, Richie is right there, close enough to press Eddie’s forehead to his chin, so he does. </p><p>Richie lets him go suddenly and Eddie stops dead on the ice. He whips his head around but there’s nobody behind him. Eddie has a brief moment of clear panic about whether or not he’s been imagining this entire thing, if he’s been hallucinating and talking to thin air, when he hears a loud groan. </p><p>“Ow,” Richie says from flat on his back on the ice. “I hit a rough patch.” </p><p>Eddie totters over to him as fast as he can, which is at a frozen snail’s pace. </p><p>“Can you get up?” Eddie says. Richie nods up at him pitifully. “Okay, I’m sick of picking you up off the ground. Let’s get you to a warming hut before you do any more damage to yourself.” </p><p>“Oh, cool, that’s actually why I’m here,” Richie says, grunting and wheezing to his feet. Even though he’s far more injured than Eddie ever was now, Richie carries more of their combined weight and skates them over to the huts on the edge of the river. </p><p>“Really?” Eddie says. “Not to antagonize innocent bystanders and do death-defying ice tricks?”</p><p>“I’m here to break my ass and admire these warming huts,” Richie says. “And I’m all out of ass.” </p><p>Eddie wouldn’t go that far. From where he’s standing, Richie still has got some ass. </p><p>He directs Richie over to a warming hut that looks like a huge, grinning clown, its bulging eyes peeking out from above its wide open mouth. The white teeth are pointy from icicles forming on them and the setting sun turns them pink and bloody. </p><p>“Can we - “ Richie says, braking hard on his skates. “Not that one.” </p><p>“Scared of clowns?” Eddie says. </p><p>Richie gulps. “Yes. Don’t make fun of me.” </p><p>“I would never,” Eddie says. </p><p>There are all sorts of warming huts lining the frozen river, tall thatched cones on stilts to huddle under, some that look like giant crystal snow globes, one that looks like an old house with a lopsided floor you have to step up onto, another that looks like a wooden porcupine. They find a smaller one where they wouldn’t have to share with a group of people - a silver mirrored booth that fits the two of them comfortably, even Eddie with all his warm clothes on. </p><p>Eddie helps Richie lower himself down on the little wooden bench inside. He wishes he could take off some of his layers - now that they’re in the warming hut, he’s almost unbearably hot and his innermost layer is soaked with sweat. He at least unwraps his scarf from his face so he can breathe. </p><p>“Oh,” Richie says like the wind’s been knocked out of him. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Eddie says. He can’t see Richie’s eyes behind the steam on his glasses, but his jaw is slack, mouth parted in soft shock. </p><p>“Yeah, I just - didn’t know that’s what you looked like under there,” Richie says. </p><p>He forgot Richie hadn't seen his face yet while he’s had all this time to learn the curve of Richie’s smile, the way his two front teeth dig into his dry, chapped lip. The man needs lip balm and stat. </p><p>“Sorry? Am I ugly like a hockey player?” Eddie tries to frame his face angelically with his hands like Richie did earlier, fluttering his eyelashes and pouting the poor excuse he has for a mouth, trying to make it cute but probably just looking like he needs to go to the hospital. </p><p>“No,” Richie says, his voice going quiet and rough. “No, not even close.” </p><p>“Uglier?” Eddie says. He drops his hands into his lap and busies himself with taking off his mittens and shoving them in his coat pockets. Richie does the same, removing his useless fingerless gloves and laying them beside him on the bench. </p><p>“Whatever the opposite of a hockey player is,” Richie says. “You’re that.” </p><p>“Oh,” Eddie says. “Well.” </p><p>Richie lifts his hands up, and Eddie thinks, maybe he’s about reach. But then he changes course and sits on them instead. Eddie sits a little bit closer, making the space between them on the bench disappear. </p><p>“Hey, how cold are your hands?” Eddie says, shifting to face Richie. “Your dumbfuck fingerless gloves probably don’t do much. Let me see.” </p><p>He holds his hands out palms up, asking for Richie’s hands. Richie, after a moment’s hesitation, gives them to him, their skin crackling electric to Eddie when they touch. </p><p>“Warm,” Richie says, and Eddie doesn’t mention the squeak in his voice. </p><p>“Like I said, it’s negative nine fucking degrees out,” Eddie says. “Well, it feels like negative fifteen degrees, so actually, it’s negative fifteen out.” </p><p>“Fucking - thank you,” Richie says with his face lit up. “I’m so passionate about this. Why do they do that?” </p><p>“Exactly, fucking exactly, man,” Eddie says, his voice too loud and bouncing off the walls. “They lie to us every day.” </p><p>“Every fucking day,” Richie says. “If it feels like something, then what’s what is.” </p><p>“Right?” Eddie says. “And why do people even live here? The fucking 200 centimetres of snow every other day? Not being able to go outside without instantly dying? Fucking great place to live.” </p><p>In the midst of his fired up indignation, Eddie brings their hands close to his mouth and has to stop himself from kissing Richie’s cold, red knuckles. Instead he blows hot breath on them, rubbing them together to warm them faster, but he doesn’t fail to notice as Richie’s eyes widen at the gesture. </p><p>“So you wanted to admire the warming huts?” Eddie says. </p><p>“Yeah,” Richie clears his throat before speaking again. “Yeah, I actually submitted a design for one, so I wanted to check out the competition.”</p><p>“Oh, are you an artist?” Eddie says, the idea of who Richie is or might be shifting rapidly in his mind once again. He’s still barely acquainted with Richie, but he’s already been so much in Eddie’s eyes. A beguiling ice danseur, a heroic rescuer, a fucking goof troop, and someone whose warm company Eddie is enjoying more than the protective walls of the hut. He wants to take him to the garbage hill in the spring and kiss him on a picnic blanket. He wants to never leave this hut. </p><p>“A comedian,” Richie says. </p><p>The idea of who Richie is shifts again, not necessarily for the better. He eyes Richie skeptically. “A comedian? Then tell me a joke.” </p><p>Richie sighs through his nose. “That’s not how it works. I’m not a joke machine. I’m not a popsicle stick or, or a gum wrapper. I have a set. I’m more of like, a writer.”</p><p>“Oh, like William Shakespeare?” Eddie says, somehow knowing exactly what that’ll make Richie’s face do. </p><p>“Yeah, that’s it, I’m like noted comedian William Shakespeare,” Richie says, rolling his eyes so hard he has to blink them back into place. </p><p>“What design did you submit?” Eddie says, genuinely curious. He knows his bud Ben has turned in a design before and gotten close, but he’s never known anyone else to try it. </p><p>“Close your eyes,” Richie says and Eddie does so. “Picture it. A huge ass.” </p><p>“What?” Eddie’s eyes fly open and he huffs out a laugh. “A huge ass?” </p><p>“Yeah, just like, two big cheeks,” Richie says. He doesn’t unclasp their hands, but uses both sets of them to gesture roundly in the air. “And in the middle there’s a hole that you walk inside.” </p><p>“Okay, yeah,” Eddie says. “The way you describe it, wow.” </p><p>“Pretty impressive, huh?” Richie says. “You didn’t think I had it in me.” </p><p>Eddie thinks, unbidden and slightly provoked, that maybe he’d like to have something in Richie. Speaking of holes. He shouldn’t think that. Really, he just met the guy. And yet, he isn’t just a guy anymore, not to Eddie. That’s Richie - and the shape of what he is in Eddie’s mind shifts again, until Eddie can’t imagine what it’d be like without him taking up space there. </p><p>“Well, good luck,” Eddie says. “I think you might have a shot.” </p><p>“Think I could get lucky?” Richie says. Now that his glasses aren’t so foggy, Eddie has a clearer view of Richie’s eyes through them. They glance surreptitiously from Eddie’s eyes to Eddie’s mouth, like Eddie has a mini tennis game happening on the bridge of his nose and Richie is watching the ball bounce back and forth. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie says. </p><p>“Hmm?” Richie says, clearly unable to stop watching Eddie form the shape of his name with his mouth. </p><p>“I have to tell you something,” Eddie says. </p><p>“Please don’t tell me I hit my head and you aren’t real,” Richie says.  He goes cross-eyed as Eddie tilts his face close, closer. </p><p>“No,” Eddie says, lips hovering on the corner of Richie’s mouth. “But today, I came here for you. I saw you too, last week, and I wanted to see you again.” </p><p>“Are we gonna kiss or not?” Richie sighs, breath warm against Eddie’s cheek. “That’s sweet and all but I’m middle-aged and my heart can’t pound like this much longer.” </p><p>Eddie, for the sake of Richie’s heart health, leans in and kisses him. Richie lets go of Eddie’s hands for the first time since he started holding them and lays them uncertainly on Eddie’s shoulders. Eddie for his part grips Richie’s jacket in his fingers for dear life and feels like he’s stepping out onto the ice for the first time again. Richie kisses sweetly, affectionate for hardly knowing Eddie at all. The gentle grasp of his lips tugs Eddie’s mouth open, hot and wanting. Richie grips the back of Eddie’s neck with his icy fingers to bring them impossibly closer. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie gasps, pulling apart just enough to talk. </p><p>“Yeah?” Richie says. </p><p>“My hands are cold,” Eddie says. </p><p>“We can - “ </p><p>“No, listen,” Eddie says. “My hands are cold.” </p><p>He reaches for the fly on Richie’s jeans, saying a silent wish for him to be stupid enough to wear only one layer on today of all days. Eddie should feel unmoored - he never, ever does anything close to something like this, reaching into a stranger’s pants in a public place because he simply can’t not anymore. But he feels more grounded to Richie then he ever has to anyone, and he wants to touch him. </p><p>“Oh,” Richie swallows. “And is the crotch the warmest part of the body?” </p><p>“It’s actually the head and I think, um, the armpit,” Eddie says, his voice unsteady as his fingers fumble at Richie’s zipper. “Do you want me to put my hands in your armpit, or?” </p><p>“Yes,” Richie groans, head slamming back into the wall of the hut. “I want you to put your hands everywhere.” </p><p>“Okay,” Eddie says. By now he’s sweated through the next layer of his clothes. Fuck, he’s wearing so many fucking clothes. </p><p>Richie grips his wrist and stops him. Eddie yanks his hand back, absolutely appalled by his own behavior. Moments away from touching a near stranger’s dick in a public place? Who is he? What must Richie think of him now? Then again, he’s never been ice skating before today either. Eddie is trying all sorts of new things today. </p><p>“Maybe, um,” Richie says and he’s really having trouble catching his breath. “Maybe we can get out of here? Go somewhere else?”</p><p>“Somewhere else?” Eddie says, suddenly hopeful again. “Me and you?” </p><p>“I just don’t want to like, what if my dick gets exposed to the freezing air and turns into like a frozen pole, and your hand gets stuck to it, and you have to rip it off and my dick skin comes off with it, and I’m bleeding out of my dick and a crowd forms and they all point and laugh at me?” </p><p>“Richie, breathe,” Eddie says. “That sounds like a very specific recurring nightmare.” </p><p>For the first time in a while Eddie feels his phone vibrate in his pocket. He’s glad for the distraction and digs it out of one of his layers and cannot believe he almost forgot all about Mike. Once he reads through his messages from the day he doesn’t feel all that bad about ditching him back. </p><p><b>Mike:</b> where’d you go?<br/>
<b>Mike:</b> nvm saw the jolly green himbo have fun freak miss eddie if you’re nasty<br/>
<b>Mike:</b> I want poutine can you hurry up<br/>
<b>Mike:</b> nvm found my own himbo, he was riding a bike on the ice like a maniac?<br/>
<b>Mike:</b> hold on he might be a disgusting hockey player<br/>
<b>Mike:</b> ok nvm he has all his teeth don’t wait up</p><p>“I have bad news,” Eddie says. </p><p>“What is it?” Richie says, looking like he’s expecting the worst. </p><p>Eddie places a kind hand on his knee. “My shoes are in Mike’s car and he ditched me.” </p><p>~*~</p><p>Eddie forgets his scarf in the warming hut, but by the time his bronchial tubes are solid ice from inhaling one breath of night air, it’s too late to turn back and get it. Richie has them across the river and out onto the snowy shore in no time flat. </p><p>Richie drives them to Eddie’s apartment. It’s so strange how they feel like old friends already, like this is something they’ve done before and will do again, like Eddie going back to find him today was a sort of destiny. It’s bordering on silly to even think that, but Eddie can’t help but be wrapped up in it. Eddie takes his skates off in the car and leaves them in Richie’s backseat, careless of them, like he knows he’ll be back to get them anyway. </p><p>Once Richie parks he gets out and circles around to the passenger side. He opens the door for Eddie, and Eddie braces himself to walk atop the sidewalks packed with frozen snow and sand, which he knows will be brutal even through his four pairs of socks. </p><p>“Hop on,” Richie crouches down next to the car. “Your chariot awaits.” </p><p>“Absolutely not,” Eddie says. “You already broke your back doing flips and shit. You’re not carrying me.” </p><p>“Your healing touch cured me,” Richie says. “Now come on. I won’t have those feet on this ground for anything.” </p><p>Eddie shifts and wraps his arms, then his legs around Richie. He’s never gotten a piggyback ride before either. Another first and the night isn’t over yet. Richie barely manages to carry him up the steps to the entrance of the building, swaying backwards and forwards so much that Eddie can picture them both on the sidewalk bleeding out of their skulls or impaling themselves on the fence posts in front of the bushes. But the strong grip of Richie’s hands holding fast under the back of Eddie’s thighs somehow make the danger worth it. </p><p>The inside of Eddie’s apartment is unendurably sweltering. Before he left he cranked the thermostat up, anticipating being a frozen block needing to be unthawed when he returned. He sighs in relief when he takes his coat off and dumps it on the floor. Richie kicks off his boots and politely arranges them next to Eddie’s other pairs of shoes, the ones that aren’t in Mike’s car. </p><p>Eddie looks around and remembers Richie is a stranger in his home. He wants to apologize for the dishes in the sink and the pile of dirty socks in front of the couch, but the thoughts fly out of his head as Richie crowds him up against the door. He removes Eddie’s hat for him and Eddie is immediately self conscious about his flat, sweaty hat hair. </p><p>Richie brushes his lips across Eddie’s hairline, his temple, inhaling deeply through his nose. </p><p>“Are you smelling me?” Eddie says. “I probably smell like the inside of a dog’s ear.” </p><p>“I gotta be honest, I’m just listening to my body and doing what it wants,” Richie says. He takes off his neon green himbo hat and his own hair looks even worse than Eddie could imagine, plastered in patchy waves on his forehead. It’s enchanting in a way that isn’t fantasy at all. </p><p>“And your body wanted to smell my gross sweaty head?” Eddie says, ruffling his hand through Richie’s curls. </p><p>“It wants to do way more than that,” Richie says. “If I don’t get you out of these clothes it’s going to drive me crazy. How many layers are you wearing?” </p><p>“Um, four on top and three on the bottom,” Eddie says faintly. Richie takes no time relieving him of his tops, layer by sweaty layer, until he’s bare and shivering feverishly in the middle of the room. </p><p>“Oh,” Richie says. His hand hovers over Eddie’s chest, until Eddie guides it to touch. </p><p>“What?” Eddie says. “You’ve never seen a 40 year old man before?” </p><p>“No, nothing,” Richie says, hand drifting up until his thumb is tucked in the short hair behind Eddie’s ear. “I just keep getting surprised by how you look under all that.” </p><p>If Eddie thought their forward momentum would be stalled by a change of location, he was wrong. Richie crashes into him mouth first, smiling against Eddie’s parted lips like he’s offering his teeth for Eddie to lick, so he does, his tongue sliding behind them. He’s so turned on again it feels impolite. </p><p>“Do you want, um, some hot cocoa or anything?” Eddie offers, gasping when he tears his mouth away. </p><p>“Maybe later, if the offer still stands,” Richie says. “First I wanna suck the dick out of your twelve pairs of pants.” </p><p>“I told you it’s only three,” Eddie chokes out, his throat nearly closing up. Is he having an allergic reaction? Can what his mother told him years ago during puberty be true - could he be allergic to getting too horny? </p><p>“Oh, <i>excusez moi</i>, I didn’t realize I was talking to the most normal person on planet Earth,” Richie says. </p><p>“Richie,” Eddie says. “Take off your pants.”</p><p>Once they’re in Eddie’s bedroom Richie strips down to his underwear quickly, then is forced to wait until Eddie can match him. </p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie says, struggling to get out of his second pair of long underwear. They’re bunched up weirdly and he’s trying not to rip them. Plus his hands are shaking and he hates to admit it, but he’s nervous. He hasn’t had anyone in his bedroom in, well. And he really likes Richie. He’s risked so much to get them to this place - his skull, his ass, his dignity, and now he’s only left with two out of three anyway. </p><p>“No, I kinda like it,” Richie laughs. “It’s very Victorian. Do you need help?” </p><p>The long legs Eddie admired on the ice stretch out before him as he sits on the edge of the bed, muscled and marked with scars Eddie wants to kiss better retroactively. Eddie nods and stands in front of him, letting Richie strip him bare. </p><p>Eddie leans down gradually, closing the space between them so slowly he meets Richie’s face in stages, the slope of his cheek, the point of his nose. He tilts his head and their lips meet, the breath between them fogging up Richie’s glasses again. Eddie pushes them up into his hair and kisses him harder. Richie groans and lies back, pulling Eddie on top of him. </p><p>“God, I want to put my mouth on you,” Richie says in a rush and Eddie gasps, his cock twitching against Richie’s bare stomach. “Will you let me?” </p><p>“Yeah, yes,” Eddie says. “I want it.” </p><p>Richie flips them and Eddie lands on his back, the beginnings of a bruise forming tender on his tailbone. His layers must not have protected him from the impact of the ice as much as he’d hoped. His face must show it, because Richie notices his discomfort immediately. </p><p>“Are you okay?” Richie says.</p><p>Eddie nods and his hips stutter restlessly, his cock hard and leaking all over himself already. “Just my back.” </p><p>“Don’t move too much, then,” Richie says. He flattens his forearm across Eddie’s stomach and firmly holds him in place. He glances upwards at Eddie, his eyebrows two devious questions marks. Eddie nods vehemently and his toes curl in the sheets. </p><p>“Fuck,” Eddie hisses, his breath trembling and uneven. He tests it, fighting against Richie’s hold to see if he can thrust up at all, and he can’t. Nervous and overheated sweat pushes out of every pore on his skin and he groans loudly, one hand slamming up to hold onto his headboard, fingers clawing at the wood. </p><p>“Like that?” Richie says. All Eddie can do is make desperate, wordless sounds, <i>mhm, mhm, mhm.</i></p><p>Richie grins up at him and then takes Eddie between his lips. Eddie chokes back a whimper as he looks down at his cock disappearing into the slick warmth of Richie’s mouth. Rich moans around him, taking him in as far as he can until Eddie’s thighs shake. He wants to fuck up into Richie’s mouth so badly, but Richie’s strong and doesn’t let him move an inch, just takes what he wants from Eddie, his cock in the back Richie’s throat. </p><p>Richie pulls off with a sloppy, wet sound, gasping for breath and pressing a kiss to Eddie’s thigh. He uses his hand to tug at Eddie’s cock a few times, and the change in pressure has Eddie trembling and leaking, pulses of precome making the slide of Richie’s hand easy and messy and perfect. He still can’t move, and god, he doesn’t want to, wants Richie to pin him and keep him there for hours. Richie flattens his tongue against the head of Eddie’s straining cock and sucks at it, and Eddie barely has time to tap him on the shoulder in a polite warning before he comes all over Richie’s lips and chin. Richie holds him down and opens his mouth wider for it, Eddie’s come painting his swollen, red lips filthy and gorgeous. </p><p>“Sorry,” Eddie says, chest heaving. Richie lifts his arm away and Eddie wiggles his body just because now he can. Not that he didn’t enjoy it. “Was that okay?” </p><p>“Eddie, I’m so turned on I’m like hearing voices,” Richie sounds drunk as he sucks kisses into Eddie’s skin, traveling up Eddie’s body until he reaches his mouth. Eddie wipes what’s left of the come on Richie’s chin with his thumb and then wipes his thumb off on the sheet. “Me next please.” </p><p>“This?” Eddie says, pulling Richie’s underwear down enough to take the thick weight of Richie’s cock in his hand. Richie’s breath stutters against Eddie’s lips, skipping across them hot and steamy, and he nods. Eddie gathers the wetness from his leaking tip and grips him, jerking him off slow and unhurried. Richie practically sobs against him, pressing his open mouth to whatever bare skin he can reach and seeking more friction. </p><p>He’s so into the way Richie responds to his touch that he almost doesn’t want this to end, wants to keep Richie like this for as long as possible, little uncontrolled snaps of his hips trying to spurn Eddie into moving his hand faster. But Richie was so good to Eddie, and he wants to be good, too. He squeezes Richie’s cock and Richie fills Eddie’s fist, fucking into the tight hold. </p><p>“Come on, come on me, come all over me,” Eddie encourages him. Richie listens to him surprisingly well and after only a few more encouraging pulls he comes, shooting between Eddie’s fingers and on his chest and belly, groaning like his gong’s been rung. He lays himself slowly down next to Eddie and runs his fingers through the mess he’s made as they both try to catch their breaths. </p><p>When Eddie told Mike this morning he wanted to go ice skating because he was trying to get laid, he had no idea it would actually work. He sighs and snuggles down further onto his pillow half occupied by Richie’s head. The perception of his bed shifts in his mind, and he doesn’t want to imagine a day without Richie in it from now on. If it’s always like this, if Richie can make Eddie feel like this and Eddie can do even half of the same for him back, then he wants it. </p><p>“So,” Richie says. He wags his eyebrows and smiles against Eddie’s sweaty shoulder, seemingly unable to keep his mouth away from Eddie’s skin for too long. “First time ice skating?” </p><p>“If that’s ice skating, sign me up,” Eddie says. “I’ll practice every day.” </p><p>“Sign up sheet’s right here, champ,” Richie taps his lips with his fingertip. That reminds him. He digs around in his bedside drawer. </p><p>“Put this on,” Eddie uncaps the tube and squirts a little on his finger. He smears the lip balm all over Richie’s waiting mouth, then kisses him and kisses him and kisses him until both their lips are tingling. </p><p>~*~</p><p>“I know that wasn’t like, the most athletic encounter of our day,” Richie says with his pinched face smashed into Eddie’s pillow. “But I think I blew my back out.” </p><p>They both dozed off for a bit, and Eddie’s comfortably curled towards Richie on his side while Richie hasn’t moved at all, his body stiff and tense. Eddie goes to the kitchen and takes an ice pack out of the freezer, wrapping it in a dish towel to place on Richie’s lower back. </p><p>“You’re a dear,” Richie sighs. He grabs Eddie’s hand before he can move too far and squeezes it and Eddie feels it around his entire heart, body, and soul. He wants Richie to stay for as long as possible, so he doesn’t mind that he’s stuck in bed for now, which is horrible, and he’d never voice it out loud. He’d die if Richie believed for a second Eddie would want him hurt on purpose for selfish, insane reasons. </p><p>“I’m gonna go hose myself off,” Eddie says abruptly. He leaves the bedroom door wide open, just in case Richie gets the wrong idea about him anyway. He’s perfectly free to leave any time he wants.</p><p>Eddie stays in the shower a long time, replaying the events of the day, committing them to memory like they’re all he’ll have left at the end of his life. He can’t believe he really put skates on his feet and went outside in well below freezing weather and he got Richie’s attention and something good came of it. </p><p>Richie hobbles in wearing just his underwear as Eddie is drying off. He pauses to stare at Eddie, who is staring at him - the size of him, the shape, how they fit next to each other. Richie kisses him quickly like he just can’t help it. </p><p>Eddie thinks it should be awkward, but it isn’t. It’s like the temperature outside - he’s not going to say it feels like something else when it feels like this. If it were up to him he’d have Richie slam him up against the shower wall and - they’d both end up in an ambulance, but, it’s a nice fantasy. Maybe save it for next time. </p><p>“Mind if I use the facilities?” Richie says. </p><p>“No, no, go ahead,” Eddie says. Eddie leaves to give him privacy but Richie leaves the door wide open anyway. </p><p>There isn’t a lot he owns that could fit Richie, he realizes after he’s wearing his own nice clean pajamas. He’d hate to make Richie put on his dirty, sweaty clothes - if he’s going to stay, that is. He finds one soft, worn out t-shirt that he thinks must’ve belonged to his ex - it’s a heather grey t-shirt that has “I WOKE UP LIKE THIS” printed on the front of it in that trendy cursive font he always sees on live, laugh, love home decor. </p><p>Thankfully Richie puts it on without question. His hair is haphazardly combed through and his face pink and clean now. The neck of the t-shirt scoops low and shows off a lot of chest and the sleeves are short, babydoll style and show off a lot of arm. And Eddie rudely did not provide him with a pair of pants so his long, bare legs that go all the way to the floor have to be out - god, his thighs could twist Eddie’s head off like a bottle cap. Richie half-clothed is almost more obscene than nudity, the peeks at what Eddie knows is there. </p><p>Eddie doesn’t realize he’s staring again until Richie crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s trying to hide himself. Is Eddie drooling? He wipes his mouth just to be safe anyway. </p><p>“Sorry about my, um, garbage can body,” Richie says. </p><p>“What?” Eddie says. “Richie, shut the fuck up. You’re hot.” </p><p>“No,” Richie says. “Who, me?” </p><p>“I saw you from a distance a week ago and thought you were so hot I risked my life to find you again,” Eddie says. “Like, your legs, and your arms. And the things they do. And like, your torso. I sound like a serial killer.”</p><p>“A little,” Richie says but he visibly relaxes. </p><p>“The point is, if you have a garbage can body then - then call the dump, because I’m a garbage can fucker,” Eddie says. </p><p>A cut off laugh peels out of Richie before he can stop it and he covers his mouth with his hand, shaking his head in disbelief. At least he seems like he thinks Eddie means it, and he better, because Eddie is being totally honest now. He’s certain Richie sucked his ability to conceal the truth out of his body. </p><p>“Aw, bud, you like these pythons? These big naturals?” Richie teases, either for Eddie’s sake or for his own, but Eddie isn’t joking. Richie flexes cartoonishly and Eddie sees stars. </p><p>“Do you want that cocoa now?” Eddie says to put a stop to it. He doesn’t know why he feels like he has to ply Richie with food and beverage to get him to stay, because Richie doesn’t seem to be leaving. </p><p>“Sure, actually, that sounds wonderful,” Richie says. </p><p>Eddie makes the cocoa on the stovetop with a pot and everything, though it’s just powder out of packets. Look at him - he’s cooking! For a man! </p><p>“Are you hungry?” Eddie says as he carefully passes a steaming mug to Richie. “We could order something, or I’ve got some uh, Kraft dinner I could make. If you want to stay. I mean, it’s Saturday. Not that, you know, not everyone has like a Monday through Friday, nine-to-five job. So I don’t know if you have to leave, you know, but you’re welcome to stay.” </p><p>“Eddie, my little marshmallow,” Richie says. “I’d love to stay. Now where’s the biggest blanket you own?” </p><p>They snuggle up on the couch together under Eddie’s biggest blanket, with their cocoa and each other. It’s starting to snow outside, big fluffy flakes hitting the window and piling up, and Eddie doesn’t even want to curse this godforsaken city for it. Richie studies the contents of his mug like there’s a secret there, smiling as he takes a sip. </p><p>“What’re you smiling about?” Eddie says. He pauses the subconscious rubbing of his hand up and down on Richie’s bare thigh. “I only meant to touch your leg, I swear.” </p><p>“Do you ever just have a really nice day?” Richie says. He kisses Eddie’s forehead and settles even more comfortably into the couch cushions. </p><p>“Actually, yeah,” Eddie says. “Yes, I have.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yes I am on Twitter @boners</p></blockquote></div></div>
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